


paper cut stains from my paper-thin plans

by atitforatat



Series: the lover series [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/F, POV Pansy Parkinson, Post-Break Up, Post-Reflections, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23276455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atitforatat/pseuds/atitforatat
Summary: Pansy always knew love wasn’t a weapon, so fights could never be won with it. Being proved right, though, was so more heartbreaking than expected.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley
Series: the lover series [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513478
Kudos: 5





	paper cut stains from my paper-thin plans

**Author's Note:**

> I finally came with the second story of this series, but this is actually the tenth one in numerical order rs  
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> This was based off of [Death By A Thousand Cuts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTEFSuFfgnU), one of my favorites of the album. It really gives up inspiration to break ups. 
> 
> English is not my native language and this was unbeta'd, so pls warn me about any mistakes ^^

Saying goodbye had never been Pansy’s thing. There were multiple reasons for that, but none of them mattered because the goodbye was already said, and Ginny had already left. It was funny that she was the one who broke them up. She cried during the whole scene, like she wasn’t the one who made the decision. Like she wasn’t the one who tore Pansy apart. 

Even funnier were her friends, who were always saying her heart would be fixed and, in the future, she wouldn’t even remember about the time it was torn apart. But her heart was fine. It was beating and pumping blood to the rest of her body, which was also fine. Something deeper was broken, a wound that her own mind couldn’t quite place yet. Physically, you could say she was intact. Her five senses were sharper even, searching for the smallest sign of a return or simply hugging anything that had the faintest smell. Her ears were attentive to any sound near the door or someone on the kitchen making tea or literary anything that showed it wasn’t over. Because it couldn’t be, right? 

And her body was acting like this because it also knew it wasn’t over. It didn’t forget the voice, the red freckles or the calluses of a player’s hand. It couldn’t. If it was indeed finished, then Pansy wouldn’t exist. There wasn’t a single part of Pansy that didn’t belong to nor was touched by Ginny. Her body was hers, but herself? She was Ginny’s. And Ginny was hers. Right? 

Ginny said their love was the greatest, one of a thousand. Ginny said there were books and poetry written about their kind of love, so why would it end? Ginny said she would never find a smile that felt like home like Pansy’s, so why would she leave it? Who in their right mind left their home behind? 

But, maybe, that was the thing. Pansy’s was Ginny’s home, but Ginny had never been hers. They were both free souls, but to different dimensions. Ginny needed freedom to go after her dreams and then come back to home, to Pansy. Pansy didn’t have a home, never did in fact, so she would come and go, like a tourist. Maybe Ginny was tired of temporary guests. She was obviously tired of Pansy, anyway. 

But it didn’t make _a sense._ Pansy didn’t want it to. She would only feel worse thinking about all the warnings, the teary eyes and all the other stuff she ignored in the name of whatever she was doing at the time. Probably enjoying the great feeling of being loved. Who knows or care now? Ginny kept saying they didn’t have a future, that Pansy wouldn’t take her nowhere, but who would? But why did they had to move? To change? 

Why did it matter she didn’t have plans? They were perfect now, they would be in the future, it wasn’t good meddling with what was working. Ginny leaving just proved it. 

Ginny not coming back was the worst outcome possible and it was so real, so close. Almost like a bird that built its nest on your window. But the window was right in the middle of your house and you lost a whole supporting wall for it. Pansy couldn’t fool herself for long. If she yelled at someone because she was desperately in love, no one would bring Ginevra back. Fighting for love didn’t work like Pansy’s ways of fighting and she didn’t know what to do. 

She broke a wine bottle, a lampshade and half of her apartment, but Ginny didn’t come back. Her only certainty in life was them and it went away, what she should do? 

Why the hell would she spend time planning their future if there wasn’t a fucking future? How Ginny never felt precious knowing she was not the light at the end of someone’s tunnel, but the whole damn tunnel? 

Shit, it hurt so much knowing all they built together was _nothing_ , because, second to _her_ , there wasn’t anything to even start with. _“I don’t want to be treat_ _ed_ _like someone’s eternall_ _spare tire, Pansy. I want someone_ _to ookk at me and think they want_ _a_ _future with me. ouu tell me all your plans and none of them talk about_ _even living together. What the fucking hell?”_

And yelling at her didn’t work either. Crying for her wasn’t showing results. Calling her didn’t have a purpose since she wouldn’t even pick up. Her floo was locked. Their mutual friends were quiet, and days were passing, threatening Pansy to finally turn into weeks and months and the world wasn’t spinning in its right way. She spent days curled up around pieces randomly forgotten, whether out of mercy or haste, it didn't matter. Her commonly used things were being slowly taken back and Pansy was fucking blind, but it just gave more meaning to the ones left behind. Including Pansy. 

She knew it didn’t happen over a day, but thinking of it as a long process of detachment hurt more. She felt betrayed. She didn’t get to have the same privilege. She didn’t have time to get used to the faintest idea of losing Ginny. Her things were brought from Ginny’s house in that fucking day. Not two or three weeks before, so she could prepare herself. It didn’t make sense taking such an effort in forgetting someone and keeping them closer at the same time. Maybe she was distancing herself too, but Pansy was too absorbed to notice? 

The thing about passions and love was exactly this, though. You felt it for someone else, but the pleasure and the gain was all for yourself. It didn’t mean you could be happy alone, though. And Ginny took it all with her when she left. 

Nonetheless, Pansy could get over it all if she just came back. She wouldn’t fight or throw her sadness in anyone’s face, she just wanted a specific someone’s fingers to run through her hair again and say it was just a nightmare, that she would never be left alone, that she didn’t have to worry. It was indeed a bad dream, and she kept waking up in the middle of the night scared and lonely, but there wasn’t anyone besides her anymore to say those things.

There wasn’t anyone already there for her with tea or a hot cocoa, giving her kisses and saying it was okay. There wasn’t fingertips caressing her cheek and nor would have ever been again. And waking up every morning with that fucking sun was a trigger. Ginevra was sun bathed, her hair seemed like liquid sun and her freckles were stars. It was all perfect and beautiful and Pansy’s. No one, even Ginny herself, had the right to take it away. 

She deserved at least a real warning. _“I was alway_ _s jokingly saying I’ll leave you and you never told me to stay. Those were all jokes, but you never showed m_ _e any reason to stay, Pans. I need someone who fights for me, you know?_ _Someone who doesn’t support the slight idea of seeing me go._ _”_

Fragments of old discussions, nights with friends and slow kisses were all mixed in Pansy’s eyes. Every single thing in her life was deeply touched by Ginevra. Her apartment’s colors were chosen by her. Her first party there was Ginny’s idea and she helped to do everything. Ginevra appeared some months before her mother died. She hugged Pansy through the whole night when St. Mungus’ doctors told her. 

She started believing in God that year. They took an angel and gave her another one so she wouldn’t be alone, and now she was. Draco, Luna and everyone else were amazing, but she now felt like she was alone in this huge, endless Universe, naked and defenseless. 

There wouldn’t be someone telling her she was better now than she was at Hogwarts days. There wouldn't be _anyone_ at all. She was alone, defenseless and broken. And she knew no one would come running to save her like Ginny did. No one would care like she did. 

And _of course_ all of this was worth fighting for, but what kind of fight you fought without a defense? Ginny wanted her to do that for her, but there was never a reason to. Ginny stayed of free will. She left the same way she came in. Fighting for love was impossible. It wasn’t a weapon, it wasn’t designated to hurt anyone who wasn’t willingly entering its vast land. And, apparently, Pansy never played to break herself. She was too much a weakling for that. 

And down this path only waited self-hate and regrets, but this time there wasn’t any other way. Even hungover in the mornings reminded her of Ginny. Both would have headaches and wake wrapped around each other in a mess of limbs and young love. Drinking those days were amazing, getting past the point of return was amazing. Dancing like the world belonged to them and it actually did. Pansy slept with her whole world in her arms and it never occurred to her what to do without it. 

Of course she would fight for it if she could, but what weapon she had? Loving Ginny with all she had to offer hadn’t been enough, so what would? She would give away her whole being just to see that smile directed at her again. But what kind of combatant would fight for a prize they already had and without anything to fight? You only ever miss things when they’re gone. Pansy never wanted to miss anything about what they had, why would she even dream about it? 

The worst was probably the silence. A war didn’t happen in her place, but you could see the corpses of happy days and distant dreams in her eyes. You could find the same peace in a cemetery. The graves wouldn’t answer your questions just as her wall frames didn't to hers. She didn’t know what to ask either. Would she be alright? The frames’ silence denounced their indifference. Or maybe, their lack of knowledge. It didn't matter. 

They were probably fine, though. They had their wall to lean in, while Pansy had nothing. There wasn’t friendship or future love for her. There wasn’t perspective or anything. 

Saying goodbye had never been Pansy’s thing. She was always the one who received the goodbyes and whom was left behind. She was never the one saying goodbye. She was always they one cut to pieces and with no backup plan. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and please tell me your thoughts about it!  
> See ya


End file.
